


they all die

by Chillykins



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 06:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19351099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chillykins/pseuds/Chillykins
Summary: Alex knows what it's like to take a life, but that doesn't make it any easier for him to accept the fact he needs to kill eight people to have a chance at getting his own life back.





	they all die

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout as always to @graveexcitement for the beta. sorry that i depressed you with alex's sad plotlines
> 
> anyways, basically all of this dialogue is taken from the show. i wanted to get inside of alex's head during these scenes, because we only ever see glimpses of how the fox river eight case is affecting him. enjoy being sad with me!

Whatever hopes Alex has for the Fox River Eight case giving him a chance to forget about Shales, focus solely on work and putting eight men back behind bars, shatter immediately after Kellerman presents him with the deal. Just thinking of it as _a deal_ makes Alex push out a bitter laugh as he sits alone in his office. A deal implies that both sides are receiving equal benefit, that it’s a fair bargain. The Company gets to sit back and watch him ruin his life even more to further their own agenda. What does he get? A promise of his family’s safety and that the truth about Shales stays unknown? Two things he should have automatically. But now they aren’t automatic, because if he stumbles, he won’t be the only one falling.

It’s more than ample motivation, but it doesn’t make the job any easier. Alex knows how it feels to take a life. What’s more, he knows how to take one up close and personal, close enough to see eyes go blank and blood spatter with a single pull of the trigger. Killing Shales isn’t the same as essentially being a hitman. Alex isn’t a common murderer who gets off on ending someone’s life, and he’s not keen on the idea of having to go through it eight more times. If he struggles this much with the aftermath of killing one of the worst kinds of people in the world, how’s he supposed to handle going after someone like, say, David “Tweener” Apolskis, a teenager in jail just for stealing a baseball card, albeit a valuable one? Or Fernando Sucre, a man who committed armed robbery, and yet someone the store clerk admitted was a surprisingly polite thief?

These are the new thoughts that keep Alex up at night, mixing with his old nightmares of Shales digging himself out of his grave beneath the birdbath. At least with Cameron and Pam gone Alex’s mind no longer presents him with images of a skeletal Shales going after them, but their absence also means he has no one left close at hand whom he loves, leaving him with no more light to peek through his darkness. God knows he has nothing left in himself to make up for that gap. Occasional phone calls and scattered visits will never be enough.

At the knock on his door, Alex looks up from the open files that he hasn’t been thinking about for going on half an hour now. If the tech-minded agent has finally finished pulling the contents of Scofield’s hard drive, maybe there’s something in there that can properly distract Alex. Instead, it’s Wheeler.

“What,” Alex says flatly.

“Abruzzi’s on the move.”

“I’ll be right out.”

Wheeler nods and walks back to the main part of the office, leaving Alex alone once again. He doesn’t have much time, but he rubs his face, readying himself for the first of his to-be-grown body count. It’s funny how he’s both being distracted and forced to remember what he has to do. He can’t figure out how he feels about that, so he decides not to feel at all. Taking the rest of his pills earlier at the car accident is paying off so far, allowing him to switch off the excess feelings with little effort. He’ll regret it later, in a moment where he needs the pill’s calming effect and finds that he has none left, but that’s a problem for later.

Right now, he has a mob boss to kill. Or, more accurately, have others kill for him, creating the guise of a tragic, unavoidable end to this particular escapee’s life.

Alex has the whole ride to think about how this is going to go down. At least Wheeler isn’t in the driver’s seat, slowing them down with his adherence to traffic laws, maybe even asking questions that would have been right if the situation was different. Based on the information Wheeler feeds him along the drive, Abruzzi should already be at the hotel when the law enforcement vehicles arrive. The timing is difficult to manage; Alex can’t arrive early, because then they’ll have the jump on Abruzzi and the chances of a firefight go down, but he can’t arrive too late either, because Abruzzi would be smart enough to figure out the trap within minutes and scamper off, setting them all back to the start.

Somehow, the timing winds up perfect. Considering the way his life has been going, Alex isn’t sure how they managed to pull it off. Just as the hotel comes into view, he spots a figure clad in a dark jacket and pants stepping cautiously into a room. He can’t see the number from this distance, but he knows it’s 116. And undoubtedly, there is a gun in Abruzzi’s hand. How else can he be expected to get revenge on the man who’d landed him in jail? And it’s that gun that Alex is banking on, trusting Abruzzi’s time in prison to have steeled the man against returning.

It only takes seconds for Alex’s car and the others to squeal into the parking lot. A couple of agents drag Abruzzi’s driver out of the man’s car, forcing him to kneel. One keeps a gun to the man’s head, but he isn’t Alex’s concern. Alex steps out onto the pavement, feeling the same calm he always does when the moment of truth arrives. He waits several moments, giving Abruzzi enough time to realize that Fibonacci isn’t there. And then he speaks.

“If you’re looking for the rat, John, he’s two thousand miles from here,” Alex calls, voice steady and calming, as it nearly always is, but especially to present himself as someone who wants a peaceful resolution to the situation.

There’s a beat before Abruzzi replies, “Who are you? Local cops or feds?”

“Feds, John. They only roll out the best for a man of your stature.”

“I deserve to know who turned on me. Tommy?”

“The man was facing a RICO rap. He did not want to go to prison.” There’s no way the thought didn’t cross Abruzzi’s mind, but Alex pulls out a reminder all the same, knowing a little nudge in the direction of his desired outcome won’t hurt. “I’m sure you can appreciate that, knowing what you know about the place now.”

A longer pause. Alex imagines himself in Abruzzi’s place. Trapped, knowing that there are a number of federal agents waiting just feet away to bring his short vacation to an end. Knowing that if he surrenders, he’ll wind up right where he started. His only other option is to come out swinging, either taking everyone out and running, or, more likely, getting gunned down. But it wouldn’t be prison.

“Whatever you’re thinking about doing, John, don’t,” Alex says. He’s not going to give any agent a chance to say that he had been anything but careful. “You are going back to Fox River today, or the morgue. It’s your choice.”

If Abruzzi hasn’t already come to that conclusion, Alex’s done the work for him. Now all that’s left is for the mob boss to make his move. His only move. In the moments Alex waits, he can’t help but think more about the man in that hotel room. As far as the Fox River Eight goes, Abruzzi's crimes are some of the worst. It's not the same as Shales, though, and Alex can’t convince himself that the world could only be a better place if Abruzzi died, rather than return to prison. The man has a wife and kids. But if Alex wants _his_ family to stay safe, his secrets to stay buried, he has to bury the man.

“I’m coming out,” Abruzzi shouts.

“Weapons come out first, John,” Alex returns, because that’s the protocol.

“Yeah, I’m coming out.”

And so the man does, stepping out slowly, and Alex’s eyes go straight to the gun in his right hand. He hears the shift of the other agents. They’re preparing themselves for the worst. Or is it the best? It’s already becoming difficult to judge between the two. Things are about to get messy, unless he’d misjudged Abruzzi. But after his years of analyzing people for the military and FBI alike, Alex knows he hasn’t made a mistake.

“Easy, John,” he says. “Easy.”

“He’s got a weapon,” one of the agents announces. “Right hand.”

“These are serious men here,” Alex says. “They have instructions to shoot at the first sign of aggression. Please, I’m asking you respectfully. Drop the weapon, kneel, and put your hands on your head.”

What he really means to say is _please raise your weapon so that my men have no choice but to fire and you’re killed in a capture attempt that went wrong._ And, most importantly, _you’re killed in a way that doesn’t raise any questions_. But he can’t say any of that, so he just repeats it in his head, willing Abruzzi to follow through.

“I kneel only to God,” Abruzzi says, and that’s when Alex knows he has him. “I don’t see him here.”

Alex readies himself to move. As soon as Abruzzi lifts his arm, aiming the gun in their general direction, Alex ducks down and uses his car as a shield as bullets fly around him. Abruzzi had likely died after the first few, but the agents continue firing for far longer than necessary. Once the noise stops, Alex straightens and takes in the mob boss’s body, crumpled in the grass. Bullet holes riddle the wall and doors behind him. He’d made sure before laying the bait that no civilians were occupying those rooms. The last thing he needs is to have innocent people caught in the crossfire. Taking out these eight men, these eight guilty men, will take enough of a toll.

 _Just seven now_ , he tells himself. He can fool himself into thinking that he didn’t take Abruzzi’s life, because even though his hands are covered in metaphorical blood, he didn’t pull the trigger. All Alex can do is hope the deaths stay that way, stay set apart, because just maybe he’ll be able to make it through this job without losing what little of himself he has left.

* * *

Whenever Alex sees a boy or even a young man, he can’t help but see Cameron in the future. Of course, he doesn’t think his son will be a criminal. He sure as hell hopes not. But he looks at Apolskis and thinks of Cameron. Working cases that involve younger men or boys in one way or the other is never easy for Alex, but over time he’s learned to manage it better. Even with that, though, he finds difficulty in keeping those thoughts out of his head while also trying to manage his temper at the teen stonewalling him. 

Why doesn’t he understand that he’s not accomplishing anything with this show of loyalty? Loyalty to people that Alex highly doubts would protect Apolskis the same way he’s protecting them. His movements had showed he hadn’t been with the rest of the convicts until arriving in Utah, so the kid isn’t on the inside. What’s more, they’d sent him out to be their errand boy. Maybe he should be grateful, because those actions led to the kid sitting before him in the room, but so far, he’s gotten nothing. 

That misplaced loyalty is one thing, but refusing to speak even when he sees proof that Bagwell’s time in prison hasn’t changed him in the slightest? Less than one day had been all it took for the criminal to take his first life. Does Apolskis really believe Bagwell will decide that’s enough? Even if Bagwell doesn’t appear to be going out of his way to leave victims behind, Alex knows full well the man will never hesitate if a perceived need arises. And he’s learned the hard way how it feels to keep coming up short in the pursuit of a criminal leaving bodies behind. Those moments are more on his mind than usual, thanks to his failed attempt at showing Apolskis the value of confession. Alex isn’t about to let those memories become reality again.

The problem is that his only lead is refusing to help.

And when Apolskis does appear to change his tune, offer to take Alex and his men straight to the convicts, it’s all a lie. Seeing Apolskis talk to a young woman around his age, seeing him grinning and the corners of her mouth turning up even as he’s handcuffed and led away, coaxes a brief smile out of Alex. But then he has to duck his head, the softness fading, because he knows what has to come next. Apolskis will not help him. He’s of no use. Which means there’s nothing protecting him from the orders Alex has been given.

“You know what?” Apolskis says from the back seat as Alex drives in the direction of the police station. “You were right. It does feel good to get stuff off your chest.”

Any other day, Alex might have been darkly amused by the kid throwing his words back at him. All he can think of, though, is that Apolskis’ confession -- unknown to him -- would be his last. When Alex glances in the rearview mirror, all he can see is how much lighter the kid looks. Hopeful, even, which isn’t how most recaptured escaped prisoners act. Little does he know that he’s signed his own death warrant. He won’t be writing anyone letters from jail, because he won’t be making it there.

“I’m sorry I had to play you like that, bro.”

Alex doesn’t reply. There’s nothing to say. So he simply turns off the road into an area shielded by trees. It’s a quiet enough place to carry out a murder. No one will be able to see them from the road, and it’ll be easier to craft a story with the scene outside rather than if they found Apolskis’ body inside the car. Alex should feel more apprehension about it all, but he’s grown accomplished at detaching himself from his emotions when it counts. No thinking about Cameron or just even vaguely about how the person in the back seat should have a long life ahead of him, prison time notwithstanding. Only the simple truth: Apolskis needs to die.

“Yo, what’s up?” Apolskis asks once Alex puts the car into park and turns off the engine.

“Come on,” Alex says calmly. “It’s gonna be a long drive. Stretch your legs.”

A breath of fresh air won’t hurt him either. Some moments to just take in the world around him, remind him that he’s still alive. That he still has reasons to remain so. Reasons that landed him in this mess to begin with. Alex steps out of the car before Apolskis, not even bothering to shut his door. He walks out to the front of the car, closer to the passenger side, and simply tilts his head up. There’s a thin layer of clouds in the sky, though it’s still bright enough for him to have needed his sunglasses on the drive. Or maybe he just wanted them because he’d been afraid something would show in his eyes and tip off Apolskis. As used as Alex is to keeping his face blank, it’s never easy, and certainly not in cases like these.

But at this point, it’s not as if Apolskis is going anywhere. And maybe it won’t hurt, to be seen. To be honest. If he’s going to gun down the kid in cold blood, the least he can do is be open. The sound of a car door opening breaks into his thoughts, and he glances back to see Apolskis finally hopping down to the ground. He closes the door behind him, then stretches. Relaxed. Oblivious. 

Alex looks back forward, the leaves of the tree branches in front of him forming a green blur as he zones out. The fact that he can do this without fear only adds more weight to his heart. It can’t be any more obvious that Apolskis poses no threat. Not to him, and likely not to The Company, but it’s not Alex’s place to question what he’s been told. He’s giving himself a moment more to steel himself when Apolskis speaks, breaking the peace.

“Hey, yo. Just so you know, man, I'm not gonna roll on those guys. It ain't gonna happen, so if that's what this is about…”

He trails off, making his point. Alex turns slowly. He does know that Apolskis isn’t going to be his rat. That’s why he has to be his victim. Alex walks to the teen, readying himself to say the words that he hasn’t spoken to anyone else. The words that have eaten at him for nearly a year now.

“We were talking about confession earlier,” he says, pulling off his sunglasses. “And I think I owe you an apology, because I lied to you. About Oscar Shales.”

Apolskis just stares at him, some combination of bemused and interested. He doesn’t understand the significance of what Alex is about to tell him. That the only reason he’s about to hear these words is because he won’t live to repeat them. Once Alex starts talking, he finds that he can’t stop, the story spilling out of him even though he should be dragging it out so he doesn’t have to pull out his gun.

“Smartass just kept pushing it.” Just thinking about Shales, as usual, brings the return of the familiar bubbling feelings of guilt and desperation and anger. “I snapped.” And in a way, Alex snaps again, gripping the back of Apolskis’ neck in a sudden motion. He goes limp, like a puppy held by the scruff. “Right there. That’s where I put the bullet in him.”

“I don’t care about none of this,” Apolskis says, a tremor in his voice.

That breaks through to Alex enough for him to shift back so he’s not speaking directly into the kid’s ear. His story isn’t done, though. He has to go all the way. Or at least, through how he’d gotten himself into trouble. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to speak Shales’ final resting place.

“Mistake about that is that forensics will tell the whole tale. Powder burns. The gun was right against his head.”

And then Alex finally lets go. He doesn’t step away, because doing so will mean that it’s time. He doesn’t want it to be time. He sees the fear in the kid's eyes and remembers this is why he can't tell anyone about Shales. No one will understand the favor he did the world, taking that bastard out of it. No one will understand that his mind punishes him enough for the deed, plaguing him with the nightmares and hallucinations and driving him to the pills. Alex knows he’s not doing himself any favors, with having grabbed Apolskis by the back of the neck and leaving no space between them, but the reaction to his words would have been the same regardless.

“Sir,” Apolskis says with a swallow. “We should go back --”

“That's what's good about confession,” Alex interrupts. If it’s time to go back, then it’s time to end this. “Because you say something, you get it off your chest and it just goes out there into the whole world.” He can hear his words streaming together now, coming out one after the other with no pause in between. All clear signs of nerves, which only seems to heighten Apolskis’ unease. “I'm so sorry about this, kid, because I hope you understand.”

As Alex reaches for his gun, Apolskis tries to talk him down. Because all he sees is some rogue government agent who’s killed once before and is ready to do it again. Alex can stall, do him the kindness -- would it be a kindness? -- of letting him know what’s really going on. He deserves a better explanation, one that isn’t sped along, one with actual details. But every second he waits to pull the trigger just makes it more likely that he won’t be able to at all. He steps back.

“I got nothing against you, kid.” 

“What are you doing, man?” Apolskis asks, sounding too confused to be properly afraid as Alex trains his gun on him.

“But they do.”

And before Apolskis can ask who _they_ are, before Alex wastes any more time, he fires. The first shot tears through Apolskis’ shoulder, splattering the car with his blood. Alex fires several more times, though he’s sure anything past the first two had been unnecessary. If he’s to make the report that he’d feared for his life, the body needs to show the response of a man acting in self-defense.

For several beats, Alex just stares at the kid’s body. And now that he’s dead, he looks more like a kid than before. The lingering surprise on his face doesn’t make him look any older. Alex reaches into his jacket and pulls out another gun, forcing himself to step to the body. Gently, he hooks a finger around Apolskis’ cuffs and lifts his hands just enough to place the gun between them. Now all that’s left is to make the call, but perhaps he should take a few seconds to work the lie into his head, collect the appropriate emotions.

It’s a good thing Alex elects to wait, because he’s suddenly aware of his legs trembling. He reaches out for the hood of the car to steady himself as he moves forward. He makes it all of two steps before his legs can’t support his weight any longer. The shaking spreads to the rest of him as he sinks onto the car’s front bumper. Out of habit, his hand strays to the inside of his jacket, grabbing the pen that’s become his lifeline. He manages to swallow a pill just as the buzzing in his head starts. It doesn’t take long for the drug to calm his nerves, steady his limbs and simultaneously slow and sharpen his thoughts.

The other convicts will be easier to kill, he thinks. He hopes. He can’t handle six more like this, even though he has to for Pam and Cameron’s sake. He’ll destroy himself to protect them. He’s already done it once. Experience, as usual, makes the fact no less difficult to bear.

* * *

After Apolskis, Alex had thought he could make Kellerman see reason. What had been the point in killing a non-threatening teenager whose time in Fox River had only been due to unknowingly stealing a valuable baseball card? If anyone’s into the convict killing business, Alex can understand having Bagwell at the top of your list. He’s the closest to Shales of the Fox River Eight, and had been even when all eight still ran free. And Burrows’ death sentence isn’t that much different from having The Company gunning for him. But Apolskis? Alex knows he can’t bring the boy back now, but maybe he doesn’t have to take out six more people.

Except Kellerman cuts him off before he can even finish his explanation, reminding him of their so-called partnership. What he’s agreed to do, and what they are giving him in return. And he’s forced to repeat the end goal of the cases. Every single one of them has to die. Kellerman makes it clear Alex is in no position to ask questions, and Alex isn’t in the mood to press him. Somehow, a group that can find the truth about Shales and threaten Alex’s family doesn’t seem to be the type to bluff.

Alex focuses the brunt of his attention on Scofield and Burrows, but if he’s to be honest with himself, mostly just Scofield. The man’s brain is incredible, and Alex can’t help but wish that the two could work together, instead of being enemies. This game between them is fun, though. It’s like the sort of high he received while chasing Shales, but Scofield isn’t leaving any bodies behind him, so Alex doesn’t have to be plagued by constant reminders of his failure. The problem is, he can’t enjoy the game forever. The longer the brothers in particular remain free, the more impatient his employers become.

And after they arrange a little accident for Cameron the moment Alex is ready to accept responsibility for Shales’ death in order to try to have some semblance of his life back, Alex’s stress only rises. Kim isn’t happy that he’s been face to face with Scofield twice and Burrows the once without ending it all with a single bullet. How many more times can he miss out on an opportunity without seeing some sort of repercussion?

As if the situation isn’t complicated enough with The Company’s pressure and having to recover from a bullet to the shoulder, Alex returns from the hospital to find Wheeler has more or less taken over the office. It’s a role the man deserves, but he seems to be having problems remembering that Alex is his superior. Instead of accepting orders, he’s now running them through headquarters. Having to come up with ways to kill convicts that headquarters won’t veto is a challenge Alex doesn’t have time for.

At least he has Bellick going after Patoshik, doing the leg work, leaving Alex to focus on the bigger fish. He has so little to hold on to these days, and the only pleasure he gets is from solving Scofield’s mind. He’s not about to divert his attention now. Once Bellick finds Patoshik -- and he doesn’t doubt he will, as Bellick may have several faults but there’s no denying he’s more skilled at tracking criminals than most -- then Alex can go deal with Patoshik as Kim had insisted earlier.

It’ll be difficult enough killing Patoshik without having to spend the extra minutes in his mind by pursuing him. Crime-wise, the man is up with Abruzzi and Bagwell as the worst offenders, but Alex can’t ignore the fact that he’s mentally ill. It’s not an excuse, but it makes it different, especially for Alex. He may not have any diagnosed disease, but his brain isn’t quite right in the traditional sense either. He couldn't come out of a childhood like his, his time in the military, what happened with Shales and now the Fox River Eight, without changes. 

The fact that Kim came up with a more reasonable reason than “because I said so” for Patoshik’s need to die doesn’t make Alex feel any less uncomfortable. Patoshik is certainly one of the more likely ones to have been in a position to be communicating with Scofield about whatever The Company is working to hide. Whatever they and Scofield and Burrows are tangled up in, it must be some hell of a secret, with how desperately the group is trying to silence anyone who even had the slightest chance of hearing something. Not that Alex ever had any doubts that he’d been roped into some of the deepest and darkest parts of government that the U.S. has to offer.

He already has some ideas in mind for Patoshik’s “accident,” but every single one goes out the window when Alex pulls up in his car to the location Bellick had given him. There’s a small crowd gathered, all looking up. He follows their gaze and spots Patoshik at the top of the structure. Hadn’t he specifically told Bellick to trap Patoshik _alone_? Sure, the man is trapped, but none of Alex’s ideas account for a number of civilians and cops alike to be witnesses. Wondering if he’d made a mistake in enlisting Bellick, Alex steps out of his car and slams the door, temper rising at the box he’s been put in.

“What’s all this?” he demands, stopping in front of Bellick. 

“Some wacko climbed to the top of a grain elevator,” Bellick says, like Alex is slow. “People wanna watch.”

“God, you were supposed to keep a handle on it.” Alex pulls off his sunglasses. The fact that Bellick is acting reasonably because he doesn’t know what’s at stake makes him angrier, not more understanding. “Do you know what that means?”

“I got you Haywire. What else do you want?”

 _I want everyone here gone so that I can kill him without any witnesses_ goes through Alex’s head, but he doesn’t reply out loud. He flashes his badge at an approaching cop. He’s just going to have to find a way to make this work. It’s different from Apolskis on account of the additional eyes, but it’s not quite like Abruzzi either, because Alex is going to have to have more of a direct hand in the act. Patoshik is unlikely to attack, so any attempt at claiming self-defense won’t work. Alex’s only other weapon is his mind, his words, and he has an idea. He ignores the crowd and starts up the ladder.

He’s never been afraid of heights, but he is worried of what’s waiting for him at the top of the structure. A few rungs up, he pauses to pop in one of his pills. The game he’s about to play needs precision, and any thoughts other than his end goal -- like ones of a conscience -- need to be dulled. It won’t hurt to preemptively make him more stable after the fact, because having an episode like he did after Apolskis will surely be reported. He doesn’t need people asking any more questions about him.

As expected, Patoshik makes no move to escape. He simply sits at the farthest corner, watching Alex. 

“How’re you doing, Charles?” Alex asks casually, like they’re just two guys passing each other in the street.

“I don’t wanna go back to prison,” Patoshik says.

“I don’t blame you.”

“I want to go to Holland.”

Alex blinks. Despite everything, a laugh accompanies his next words. “That’s not what I expected to hear.” And then it’s time to be serious again. “But you can't go there, son.”

“I just...I just want to go here.” For emphasis, Patoshik lifts an oil painting. It’s a beautiful, calm landscape. Alex can see why it’s taken the man’s interest. “See?”

“I’ll tell you what,” Alex says, seeing the right path of conversation in front of him. “You don’t have to go to prison. But you can’t go to Holland either.”

Patoshik takes that in, then starts moaning “no” repeatedly.

“It’s okay,” Alex interrupts. “It’s okay. Hey.” He finds himself taking a slight detour, feeling the now-familiar need to make a sort of confession before taking someone’s life. It connects nicely to the way he needs Patoshik to be thinking, but it still feels wrong, making excuses to say the things he’s needed to say for so long. “You’re in a tough spot. You feel trapped. You got no options and you’re caught in a situation where you have no control.”

He knows he’s hit the right spot when Patoshik returns to simply looking at him, taking in the words, recognizing their familiarity.

“I know how you feel,” Alex goes on. “I do. It takes your toll on you, and all you want to do is run.” And he does want to run, but he remembers what had happened when he’d tried. “But run where?”

“I just want to go.”

“There’s a way out.” 

Alex would be lying if he hasn’t thought about that very way out for himself. He’s certainly taken no precautions to protect his life in his pursuit of the convicts. Driving at Scofield and Tancredi full speed, though he’d been fairly confident Scofield wouldn’t allow a crash. Slamming his car into Scofield and Burrows’ to stop them. The closest he’s come to actually ending it all had been in that New Mexico detention facility, right after Kim had told him to shoot both brothers in the sight of all the guards. He’d stared down the barrel of his own gun for a moment before an alternate idea came to him, aided by his desperation to one day reclaim his life.

“A way out?” Patoshik repeats. “Of this maze?”

“Yeah.” Alex senses he’s close now. “I know you killed your parents because they hurt you. And I know you killed that guy because he was hurting Sasha, but what you did was wrong, you know that.” In other words, there’s no denying that Patoshik’s only options are returning to jail or jumping.

“I just wanna go.”

Patoshik glances back at Alex, maybe searching for more understanding, before staring out into the distance again.

“You can,” Alex says simply.

“I wanna go now.” Patoshik stands up, looking over the edge at the ground.

Alex takes a small step forward, making a show of this not being exactly what he wants.  As Patoshik holds onto the railing, considering his options, Alex can’t help but glance towards the ground too. Barring an inconvenient miracle, Patoshik will not survive the fall. And as no one is overhearing their conversation, there’s no one to say that this is anything but Patoshik’s idea. The man turns his head, looking to Alex as if asking for permission. It takes him a moment to fully accept what he’s done, and then he gives the smallest of nods. A slight smile.

“It's okay.”

Patoshik swings his legs over the railing, now nothing to stop him if he decides to fall forward. Alex tightens his grip on the bar he’s holding. Maybe he should be acting a little more distressed about the apparently imminent suicide, but he can’t find the energy.

There’s a beat.

Then Patoshik leaps off, spreading his arms as if wanting to fly.

Alex leans over the railing, watching the man fall. Wondering at what moment, if any, he realizes what he’s doing. It’s not as if there’s anything he can do to stop it if he does have second thoughts. When Patoshik’s body hits the ground with an audible thump, Alex forces his gaze away. All he can think is his hit list is now down to five. He can’t see anything questionable about this apparent tragedy, so perhaps he’ll have some breathing room for the next one.

As he makes his way down the ladder, though, he’s already accepting that will likely not be the case.

* * *

Of all the Fox River Eight, Alex always thought of Franklin as the most similar to himself. Both military men looking to do the right thing for their families, even if at their personal detriment. There’s the matter of Franklin’s dishonorable discharge, but with all the rumors of Burrows’ innocence, Alex is having difficulty looking at lesser crimes without some doubt. Regardless, any similarities are not protecting Franklin from Alex’s rising anger that the man has not yet delivered him Scofield. 

The deal is simple enough, but it’s difficult for Alex to ignore the fact that he knows how it feels to be in Franklin’s position. Here he is, blackmailing a man by threatening his wife and child. How is he any better than The Company? These self-hating thoughts aren’t new, but they’re more inconvenient than ever. If Franklin is indeed his best chance at ending the case, he can’t afford to back off. 

The question then becomes _is_ Franklin his best chance. In all the times Alex checks over the man’s shoulder, it doesn’t look as if Scofield ever used the website in question. He’s inclined to believe Franklin, if only because the specificity of his story is too complex to be a lie. That and the two of them both know that if Franklin slips up, his wife and daughter will be the ones paying. The problem is, it’s not really Franklin’s call on whether or not this plan works. It doesn’t matter if Scofield checks the website ten times a day; if he doesn’t respond, Alex doesn’t have a thing.

He’s willing to wait. He doesn’t know how far The Company’s patience will stretch, but surely they will appreciate the fact that he could be closing in on their top targets. And the longer this drags on, the longer he can pretend like he’s not going to get the reminding order to kill Franklin like the others. Sure, the waiting and not knowing if he’s going to get to Scofield is grating on Alex’s already frayed-beyond-repair nerves, but he prefers it to the alternative.

Which comes sooner than he expected.

Every time Alex hangs up his phone after a conversation with a Company operative, he has half a mind to throw the phone out a window. He associates too many bad memories with it now. Pam’s tears after Cameron’s accident. The insistence on killing Patoshik. Threats against his family. Reminders that he’s just as trapped as any prisoner. It’s satisfying to imagine the action of throwing the phone away, though it’s not even remotely a possibility.

This phone call is no different. In all of the scenarios Alex has pictured with Franklin’s deal, he didn’t have one where Scofield is found by someone else. Alex protests Franklin’s use to him. He’s not even sure why, because there’s no point now that Scofield and Burrows are apparently in Ebert Park, of all places. Maybe part of him feels obligated to at least try to get out of this. But it’s not a surprise when Kim says that the only need left is a death with no questions. 

With a death being the only remaining option, Alex’s needs once again uncomfortably align with The Company’s. They both need an ordinary death to keep from having anyone dig into just what’s going on with the Fox River case. For Alex, though, the net is tightening. He has to face any blowback by himself. Kim has God knows how many people ready to clean up his mess before anyone got close. Certainly far before the man faced even half as much pressure as Alex is facing now.

Franklin’s death presents its own challenges. Alex has easy access to him, but there’ll be plenty of questions if the man is alive when Alex enters and dead by the time he leaves. Maybe it’s because the means are still on his mind from Patoshik, but only one idea comes to Alex. It’ll be harder, but he has the strongest leverage one person can have over another. Just thinking about going that route twists Alex’s stomach. Can he really make those threats? He’s an expert on them, in the wrong way.

Alex lingers at the door, staring in at Franklin through the window. The man doesn’t seem to have moved since their last talk, still staring at the laptop. He understands how it works, how it feels to be doing something you don’t want to do in order to protect your family. Alex doubts Franklin would characterize Scofield as a friend, but he’d sounded weary when making the deal, as if he’d already accepted its toll. Like with Apolskis and Patoshik, Alex feels the need to be honest, if only for a moment. As if any amount of honesty can make up for what he’s about to do.

He takes a deep breath, then lets himself inside the room. Franklin looks up at the noise, likely expecting another round of frustrated shouting. If only.

“Hey, look, it's nothing yet, man, but I'm sure he'll hit me real soon, okay?” he says.

Initially, all Alex can do is stare at him. Alex knows what it’s like to have a victim begging for his life, and he knows what it’s like to orchestrate a death that the victim never sees coming until it’s too late. He’s had more of the latter than the former, though he’s not sure which reaction is worse.

“You know, if I were in your situation, everything you've done, every decision you've made...I'd have done the same thing,” Alex says. And in a way, he has. “You're a good man, a good father.” He pauses, then presses on. “There's been a change of plans. And it looks like I'm not gonna need your help after all.”

Franklin makes the connection to himself quickly. He leans back from the laptop. “So you found Scofield.”

“My colleagues are getting pretty close, yeah.” Referring to The Company as his colleagues almost makes Alex as sick as what he’s working up to doing. “So…”

“So I guess you can set me free, then.” Franklin raises his handcuffed wrists hopefully. Alex just shakes his head, the corners of his mouth turning up for a moment. “Of course not.”

Alex walks to the other chair in the room. He doesn’t think he’ll have the strength to stand for this next piece, so he sinks onto the plastic. His hands clench together in the hope of keeping himself grounded.

“You and me, we had a deal, right?” he says.

“Right.”

“I get your wife released, take care of your daughter's health, and you get me Scofield.” 

Franklin doesn’t need a reminder of the deal. It’s surely been dominating the man’s thoughts since he made it. Alex needs it up front and center for this conversation.

“But you're getting him yourself,” Franklin says, confused. “You just said that.”

“I know. I know. I just want you to know...that I'm gonna keep my promise to you, and I'm gonna help your family. But I'm gonna need your help too. And this is something you're not gonna wanna do. I don't want you to do this, but I need you to do this.” Alex hears himself rambling again, making him think of Apolskis, which only makes him more tense. “And if you don't, I'll have Kacee arrested again and I'll have Dede's medical care stopped and I will hate myself, and it'll make me sick but I swear to God I will ruin their lives. Don't make me.”

He’s had a lifetime’s amount of ruining lives. Probably more. It’s funny, talking up how he’ll hate himself and feel sick if he has to bring down the rest of the Franklin family. As if he doesn’t already hate himself. As if he doesn’t struggle to fall asleep at night because of the weight of his actions.

“What the hell are you saying to me?” Franklin asks.

“Later, you'll get a package in your cell. It's gonna be from me. I need you to use it, okay?”

Alex stands up quickly. He can’t do this anymore, stand here and face the man’s questions, because maybe he won’t have the willpower to see it through and he’ll do something stupid like explaining it all. Doing the right thing.

“Well, what's in it?” Franklin’s voice is level. He doesn’t understand what he’s being asked to do. He won’t until that package arrives.

Instead of answering, Alex turns away. Starts for the door. He can’t leave the room soon enough.

“Yo. Yo, what the hell is in it, man?”

“Just use it or you'll wish you had,” is all Alex can say as he stops and turns back to face the man. He finally holds eye contact with Franklin, willing him to understand how serious he is about the threat.

“What's in the package?” Franklin repeats.

This time, Alex doesn’t answer. He finishes his path to the door and opens it, ignoring Franklin’s continuing demands for answers. Even after Alex steps into the hallway and shuts the door behind him, he can still hear Franklin’s shouts. He tries his best to shake them off. He needs to be focused to have another faceoff with Scofield and Burrows, especially if they are out in the open. A double murder in plain view isn’t going to be easy to make look by the book.

 As Alex walks to his car, his thoughts, as usual, won’t let him relax. He’s not just no better than The Company. He’s worse. At least they’re giving him the opportunity to stick around for Pam and Cameron in addition to protecting them. He’s asking Franklin to end his life, to prevent himself from ever seeing his wife and daughter again, in order to keep their lives intact. 

There hadn’t been another option, Alex reminds himself. Making murders look like they happen in the line of duty is never easy, and it’s a whole lot more complicated with Internal Affairs breathing down his neck and Wheeler analyzing his every move. Alex can’t be anywhere near Franklin when he dies, and it’s not as if he can pay someone to stage a fight, because then that’d be another potential loose end. There he goes, thinking of people as liabilities, much like how his employers view each member of the Fox River Eight.

He tries to tell himself it’s not any different than Patoshik’s death. Alex has talked someone into committing suicide before. He can do it again. Except it _is_ different. Patoshik had no family and had already had some of the thoughts, the need to get out. Franklin? Franklin has a family. There’s probably no world in which the man would ever want to take his own life. Other than this world, anyways, because Alex didn’t give him a chance.

It’s a depressing drive out to the park. He’s grown used to these sorts of drives. His only comfort is knowing that he’s heading somewhere that should engage his mind enough for him to push aside these feelings. This time, his destination doesn’t help him out like he’d hoped. It didn’t seem possible, but Alex even manages to feel worse once he arrives at Ebert Park to find that the brothers are gone. He can find them again, but in the moment, it’s like he’d asked Franklin to kill himself for nothing. Maybe his lows will just keep going lower until he loses all remaining hope -- not that there’s much of it -- of having some semblance of a life again.

If he’s honest with himself, reaching the point of no return has always seemed like the most likely outcome.


End file.
